


Chrysós

by feathertail



Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians & Related Fandoms - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Mentions of Blood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-02
Updated: 2018-02-02
Packaged: 2019-03-12 19:23:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13553952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/feathertail/pseuds/feathertail
Summary: My take on Luke's return from his failed quest and how Kronos used that to get into his mind.





	Chrysós

Luke staggered across the camp boundary, stumbling heavily as the toe of one winged sneaker caught on a knot of grass and almost sent him sprawling. But even with one hand clasped tightly over the left side of his face, he managed to retain his balance and not completely keel over. He didn't know how long it took him to stagger up the hill, but it seemed an eternity until someone saw him and screamed for help; he supposed it was fair, most of his shirt was soaked with second-hand bleeding from his face.  
  
He presumed he must have blacked out or something, because the next thing he knew, he was in pain, and he couldn't see, and there were hands on him. He thrashed suddenly, and there was souting for a few brief seconds before strong hands seized him and restrained him, stopping the majority of his struggling. A calm, familiar voice spoke from his left - or was it his right - and reassured him, told him what was going on; they'd taped both his eyes shut and bandaged over them in case of damage that they needed daylight for, or something, ao they were keeping him blind to prevent him doing any more damage. But the excruciating pain, the one he set his jaw against, was his cheek, a long gash striped down it thanks to Ladon, and they'd had a go at stitching it up, but the bleeding wasn't stopping, and they couldn't give him any more ambrosia or nectar, so he was stuck with the pain for now.

 

  
  
He didn't know how he managed to fall asleep, maybe he'd just passed out from the sheer agony, he didn't know. But he was dreaming, somehow, because he could see, and he was no longer in pain. It was dark, but moonlight streamed in through a gap in the blinds, cutting a swathe of white through the black. Luke frowned.  
"Uh, hello?"  
On second thoughts, maybe not such a good idea to do that, this could be a nightmare, something could be lurking, lying in wait for him. And then he heard it.  
  
_"Luke."_  
  
A deep, chilling voice echoed quietly, sending a shiver down his spine.  
"Who's there?" His voice shook despite his attempt to control it, to appear strong and brave and not afraid in the slightest. His hands clenched tightly in the sheets around him. The whisper came again.

  
_"Luke."_

 

Was it coming from outside? He swung his legs out of bed, bare feet touching the floor all but silently. He padded slowly to the door, listening hard as he moved. He seemed to be getting closer to the voice... He paused with his hand on the handle of the door, listening hard. He couldn't sense anything, but that didn't mean there wasn't anything out there. This was a dream. He turned the handle and cautiously opened the door, looking out onto what he expected to be grass and trees, but was instead darkness. Endless darkness.  
  
Even though his common sense screamed against it, he stepped out into the blackness. An unintelligible force drew him outside, enticed him, enveloped him. The voice came again, and spoke to him. It spoke of his father, that bastard who had sent him on this damned quest, one that had no glory to begin with, and one that had got him hurt - that mark would scar, and the voice confirmed it. It spoke of the gods, of how they didn't care for their children, sent them on quests for their own gain, uncaring if they got hurt, or even if they died, and couldn't even grace them with enough presence to let them know who their parent was. There were so many children in Cabin Eleven, just waiting to be claimed, and it was only on very rare occasions that a kid would actually have their parent acknowledge them. The voice spoke of this, and more, nurturing the resentment lying low in Luke's heart.  
  
_"I could make you stronger. Make him pay, make them all pay. We can slaughter them together, save the world from their repulsive control. Together, Luke. You and I, together. We can liberate the world from their oppression."_  
  
Luke stumbled to a stop at the sheer edge of a drop, scrambling back frantically. The voice came from below, deep in the black pit that had no end. But now it was drawing closer, rising up, and Luke's heart thumped wildly in his chest, stomach churning madly. And then he could see something - no, someone - rising from the dark, a golden glow shining from their skin- Luke's heart stopped in his chest. There, in front of him, was... him. A mirror image. It did everything he did, and when the voice came again, it used his voice, opening his mouth, and Luke's heart seized in terror again as he felt his own mouth mirroring the Luke across from him, felt his own throat emitting the words that were sounding in his ears.  
"We will overthrow them together. We will be unstoppable together, Luke. You will have so much power, unlimited power. Will you join me?"  
  
And Luke's mouth moved again, to his consternation, but neither he nor the voice controlled him as he spoke the word he fought not to say.  
"Yes."  
  
And then a blade gleamed bright in his mirror's hand, a golden scythe that rose as his mirror raised his fist. He caught a glimpse of his own reflection in the blade, and his chest constricted with fear. There, reflected in the blade, he saw hi own face, scarred cheek, sandy hair, blue eyes- no. _One_ blue, one morphing to gold. And as he watched, the other slid to gold, and his lips quirked into a smirking grin, uncontrolled by him. His eyes snapped up to look at his mirror, but it was gone, and he was falling, the ground disappearing from under his feet as he fell down, down, down, for eternity...  
  
  
  
He bolted upright in his cot, fingers immediately grabbing for his face, tearing at the bandages around his head, ripping them free, yanking the tape from his eyes. His eyes hurt as he forced them open, but he didn't care, just scrambled for anything with a reflective surface, mirror, knife, glass, anything at all. A metal tray glinted in the moonlight, and he surged across the room and snatched it up, sending everything neatly laid on it clattering noisily to the floor- he didn't care. He turned to the light, staring into the silver, and his knees almost gave way with reliefe; his own blue eyes stared back at him, no gold in sight, his skin pale save for the crimson slash gaping wide across his cheek, stitches poor to begin with torn free with ease, giving way to gently trickling blood. And as the flow of blood grew quicker and thicker, the pain numbed by his adrenaline surged back into existence, and this time his knees did give way. The tray clanged loudly on the floor as he sank down next to it, vision and hearing fading in and out as someone, drawn by the chaos, knelt hurriedly at his side, reaching for something to stop the bloodflow.  
  
At some point, Luke passed out.

**Author's Note:**

> Luke!muse awakened by a new PJ rp site I'm admin of... blame that.
> 
> Chrysós translates to Gold.


End file.
